


Stay

by MakeSadieStop



Series: Nothing Hurts [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Not really too rough but eh, Probably more than this but I tried to make it all subtle, Rough Kissing, So it's hard to pick out individual stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakeSadieStop/pseuds/MakeSadieStop
Summary: Naruto isn't going anywhere on Gaara's watch, so the only solution is a sleepover. Cue more fluff and a lil bit of dirty until it all tapers off to angst.





	Stay

Gaara isn't sure what the sleeping arrangements will _involve._

Because even if he considers the noise and the quirks, he knows for certain that Naruto is a gentleman. And _even if_ that term is subject to interpretation and weighed down by a _long_ history of misogynistic condescension—Temari has kept him thoroughly informed on such topics—Gaara can safely conclude that no gentleman would _ever_ do what Naruto just did and then leave.

Because now Gaara finds himself thinking of Deidara—not the fury, not the panic, not the death, but the words. The stubborn philosophy: art is an explosion.

Because Uzumaki Naruto is the greatest artist to ever live, with all the red-and-yellow fireworks he just set off behind Gaara’s eyes.

And if he goes now, Gaara will never forgive him.

And there’s only one bed.

The thought arcs up and down Gaara’s spine one thousand times before he recalls that he has the gift of speech. Of course, Naruto has to remind him first.

“Still broken?”

There is a pipe in the body that no one knows about—a branch of the chakra network, intimately connected with Wind, running straight from the eardrum to the trachea. What other explanation could there be, if the murmur into Gaara’s ear just sucked the air right out of his lungs?

“Only if you go.”

“Okay. You’re wheezing.”

“Your fault.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I can never be sorry again. Your fault, too.”

“So that was a compliment?”

As Naruto observed, Gaara is wheezing. So all he can do is nod, rapidly, eagerly, until one of those _hands_ takes him by the chin to stop his head from falling off.

“And that— _that_ was your first kiss.”

“ _Hah._ Can you tell?”

“Easy. But I’m shocked. Would’ve thought there’s a line outside your office every Valentine’s. New moms make you kiss them instead of their babies. That kind of thing, ya know?”

“Never.”

“The girls here think you’re handsome.”

“No.”

“They do! I heard them. After you died.”

“Frightening.”

“After you died _and came back_.”

“Still doubtful.”

“Well, _I_ agree, so shut up, eh?”

Naruto could have just told Gaara to jump off a cliff in Konoha without a gourd and he still would have obeyed. This is no problem at all. Besides, the less he works his jaw, the more Naruto can stroke it.

“The traditional response to someone this close to your face telling you to ‘shut up,’ by the way, is ‘make me.’”

“Why would that kind of command have a traditional response?”

“What did I just tell you?” And then Gaara really _must_ shut up if he doesn’t want to scrape Naruto’s lip.

Apparently, that hazy sentiment of ‘don’t bite’ is not a shared one, because in a matter of seconds Gaara can taste his own blood. And a matter of seconds after that, he decides that he doesn’t mind.

When they pause, it is with a strange satisfaction that Gaara notices a change in Naruto’s breathing to rival his own. “Too fast?”

“Why did you stop?”

“I bit you.”

“It felt intentional.”

“I should’ve asked.”

“It doesn’t hurt me. It’s—fine.”

That’s entirely the wrong word. And that word’s faint, breathy keening is enough to make that clear, because Gaara can feel the little excited _shiver_ off Naruto as he _knows_.

“Okay. Okay, _good_. Are _you_ okay, though?”

“Didn’t I-?”

“You still haven’t opened your eyes.”

“I forgot.” It feels like a lame excuse as it stutters off Gaara’s tongue, but it’s the truth. Just the sensation of pure _Naruto_ is almost too much light for his mind and his body to stand. All other sources were pushed off to the side.

He starts with a squint, then lets the gap widen from there. Naruto’s still close. _So_ close. So _very_ close that Gaara blurts it out.

“There’s only one bed.”

“Are you trying to seduce me, Lord Kazekage?”

“If that’s what it takes.” And even if Gaara doesn’t quite grasp what that’s supposed to mean.

“For what?”

“For you not to go.”

It’s a mouthful, but it’s easier—not as permanent as the other, single word, hovering unspoken in the air. Close enough that Naruto’s bare forehead leans in to touch, far enough that he can almost _chuckle_ his response.

“Hey, you won’t make me pay for the night, will you? And don’t you dare say you’ll charge me in hugs.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“You’re right, you wouldn’t,” Naruto decides. Gaara must have sounded more offended than he had meant, because as he speaks, Naruto’s head and hands slip back to fit firmly within his own space. They’re not breathing each other anymore, and Gaara has already opened his mouth to protest this separation when he’s pulled up to his feet by the elbows.

“So let’s see this ‘one bed’ I keep hearing about, eh?”

The pipe _has_ to exist. The air leaves him so fast that he has to steady himself on Naruto’s shoulder if he’s going to stand, much less walk.

“I can carry you, if you need it.”

“I’m fine.” It’s the same kind of ‘fine’ as before. The ‘fine’ with the little shallow _twist_ of breath that makes Naruto’s muscles shudder and tense against him. Only now Gaara can see the face to match the gesture, the widened eyes and the parted lips, so they’re _both_ shaking like Konohagakure’s leaves by the time they’ve reached the foot of the bed.

“ _You_ can fit in this?”

“I’ll take the floor.” Just gazing up at him from there will be enough. The space is exactly what they'll need to calm down.

“No way.”

“You’re the guest. You’ll have to curl your legs up either way, but you’ll have room for your back on your own.”

“No, _I’m_ taking the floor. The bed’s sized for you.”

“I won’t stand for that.”

“That’s good, because you’re not standing.”

Before Gaara can object, there are arms at his waist tugging him down to his own mattress, and he decides not to object at all. But he still has a question.

“Didn’t you want the floor?”

“You wouldn’t have let me. This is the deal, and I’m not letting go until you accept it.”

Gaara is tempted to refuse for that exact reason. But he makes a show of sighing and nodding and rolling his eyes.

It’s his best impression of Shikamaru. He’ll have to save it for family reunions in a few years.

“How could Suna's council _ever_ appoint _such_ an immature leader?” Naruto wonders aloud.

“They’ll share that information when Konoha does the same.”

“Go to _sleep_ , Gaara.”

Gaara is about to point out that he’s still in full clothes—everything but sandals—but hands are sliding up to unbuckle his vest and he can’t think of a reason to say anything at all.

“Don’t move a muscle. I’m getting mine off now.”

Gaara can already hear the zipper, then the soft impact of a balled-up track jacket thrown to the floor.

“There. Now there’s no excuse. We’re sleeping.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Can’t sleep, but ‘not an insomniac’?”

For the sake of his own psyche, Gaara avoids arguing against himself these days, so he supposes he really must give in to sleep. Only this is the one night that Uzumaki Naruto hasn’t kept his word.

“You said you’d let go if I accepted your terms.”

An especially eloquent snore into Gaara’s ear is the only reply. He suspects he has been double-crossed.

He waits with wide eyes until the breath sounds are natural, relaxed enough for true sleep. Then he shifts himself, turning over inch-by-inch, so the chin just at his shoulder now rests on his head. Naruto’s pulse presses to Gaara’s cheek.

Naruto can’t leave now, not without him knowing. The thought is almost comfort enough to lull Gaara into sleep—sleep better than any he’s had in twenty-one full years of existence, if he would just let it take him.

 _Almost_.

He can’t.

_If._

He’s a willing insomniac, tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this is sufficient thanks for the love and inspiration offered on the first installment, ahhhh here's three cheers to hopefully not being crappy-  
> It's shorter, and the relationship is a little more strongly characterized-  
> Even though this technically has more fluff + more dirty in it than the last one, though, it almost feels sadder? Like quietly sad. Not sure if that means I did it wrong or right. Unlike the first, I didn't have a plan for how it would end. Let me know how it turned out?  
> On the bright side, though, I think I've come up with my general rule of how I'll be titling these.  
> Hopefully I didn't lose track of the characters here.


End file.
